


The Pale Moonlight

by Elywyngirlie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Hogwarts, Batman quote, F/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Noncon use of spells, Not quite a time turner fic, Possessive Tom, Stalker, Tom takes what he wants, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/pseuds/Elywyngirlie
Summary: "Did you ever dance with the devil in the pale the moonlight?"





	The Pale Moonlight

“Shit, he knows everything about you!”

Hermione ignored Harry’s shout. He was agitated, irrational, all things Harry when he didn't understand what was happening. She sighed and looked away but then frowned at the pile of letters on the table. Harry was muttering in the background and she turned to face him, ignoring the pile. 

“Look, Harry, I’m sure he doesn’t know everything,” she began, attempting to reason him but Harry whirled around with a snarl. He grabbed the latest envelope and dumped it on the desk. 

She couldn’t stop her startled cry. 

It was the lingerie set she had bought just this weekend. Agent Provocateur, a treat for herself, a treat in anticipation for tonight. A lacy concoction in sheer periwinkle with discreet lace and a little bow at the back of the panties. 

“I just…”

“Yeah, you told Ginny that you had gone shopping for something for the ball. For Ron.” She tried not to blush, sure that the crimson creeping up Harry’s neck wasn’t just from his anger. 

“He got the same thing as you Hermione. He knows. He’s watching you. And he went to a muggle shop. ”

“So what’s your suggestion? That I give it all up?” Hermione rose to her feet, anger humming under her skin. She had given so much of her life already. She had fought the war, she had beaten Voldemort, she had won Head Girl and had scored an impressively high number of NEWTs. This was her time. 

The Ministry ball to celebrate a year after the Battle of Hogwarts was to be her night. She also expected Ron to propose. Harry had earlier this year and Ginny proudly wore his ring, even though she knew it would be a while before the wedding could even happen. Happiness floated along in the air, pulling the trio along with it. The darkness had to be kept away somehow. A ball, a dance, flirty underwear--the ordinariness to hang all her hopes on. 

‘

The ball would also mark her end of school and the beginning of her career as an Unspeakable. The chance to learn and to harness magic. She couldn’t pass it up. She had her own dreams, she thought in frustration. 

Harry ruffled his hair, black sticking everywhere, and shrugged. He was fitting into his Auror role nicely, Robards praising him at every chance he got. Ron was less suited for the Auror role in major crimes, like Harry, but instead was finding fulfillment in tracking down thieves for the Ministry. 

But that meant they both knew about the stalker in far more intimate details than Hermione did. They knew about the letters, the owls, the odd gifts. A tome of ancient magic that she had read halfway before Harry had confiscated it. A potions kit with ingredients hard to source--still sitting in the Auror’s evidence lock up. 

“Don’t go?” he hazarded and Hermione scoffed. 

“Don’t go? Don’t go?” The volume began to rise and Harry sank into his seat. Hermione glared at him, tossing her perfectly coiffed hair back, wincing when she heard a bobby pin bounce on the desk. Her stylist was going to kill her. 

“Harry James Potter,what is your plan? For me to stay at home and hide while the rest of you go out? The rest of you enjoy your lives? I fought a war so I wouldn’t have to hide!” 

“He could be trying to kill you!” 

Hermione grit her teeth, nails digging into palm, as she tried not to pull out her hair. 

“You will be there. Ron will be there._ It is a ball full of wizards and witches, Harry. _There is plenty of protection. I’ll take the detail to and from the car. I won’t go anywhere. You have my word.” 

“Yes, but we all have to give up our wands. That is the condition of attendance, you know that,” Harry reminded her solemnly and Hermione sat, deflated. Although she had some control over her wandless magic, it was slight. It was an area to explore when she was in the Department of Mysteries. 

The only option was logic. Hermione tried again. 

“These letters have been coming for six months now,” Hermione continued. “Nothing has happened.”

Harry gently pushed her hand away. “The underwear is an escalation. He could try something.” 

“With you there?” she whispered, relying on his hero complex. He didn’t disappoint. Groaning, he scrubbed his face before leveling her with a hard look. 

“Promise me that you won’t do anything crazy. And that you’ll stay near me and Ron.”

“Of course,” she said. And with a quick hug, an air kiss next to his cheek, she was gone in a flurry. 

* * *

The deep blue of the gown flowed over her curves, flaring at the waist, shimmering in the light. Her mom had helped her pick out the dress and Hermione had reveled in the time with her parents. After the war, she had gone to Australia with Shacklebolt and McGongall who had helped restore her parents’ memories. True, there was a slight distrust but Hermione could see it ebbing away as she turned to her parents for guidance. Shopping with her mom had been one moment that she could feel the breach healing. 

Of course, Hermione thought, her mom was also there in the lingerie store. Troubled that her admirer might know about her parents, Hermione made a note to mention it to Harry. She tucked in the last bobby pin and with a wave of her wand, ordered them to stay. It would last..for a few hours, anyways. 

Hermione grabbed her cashmere stole and ran to the fireplace. With a toss of the green powder, she was in the Ministry in a flash. Ron was waiting impatiently nearby and he slipped his arm around her. 

“You look wonderful,” he gushed and Hermione lifted her chin with a proud grin. He certainly was trying these days, she thought. She returned the compliment about his dress robes and regretfully handed over her wand to security as they entered the ballroom. Ron hugged her tight and she allowed herself to sink into this future. 

The ballroom was gloriously decorated with gauzy curtains and twinkling fairy lights and shooting stars. It looked how she thought hope tasted--bubbly and bright and golden. There was no darkness here. Even after the solemn opening where they remembered the fallen, she told herself: this is how I remember them. With every laugh and smile, with every step toward knowledge. 

She spent most of the night chatting with her friends, twirling on the floor with Ron or Harry or occasionally, George, if Angelina would spare him. Neville managed to sneak in a dance before Luna, to her delight, stole her for a swing around the floor. They looked fresh, alive, their cheeks stained with the blood pumping in their chests. 

They had won. 

Begging off, Hermione wandered toward the doors opening on to the terrace. It was fake, of course, something transfigured to resemble a sliver of a moon and midnight blue skies. Still, she stepped through the sheet curtains and took a breath of the magicked garden air redolent with roses and carnations and wisteria. Whoever had done the charm work had done a good job as a slight breeze wafted along her collarbones and she gave a slight shiver. 

Still, this was the allure magic could offer, one she hadn’t been able to refuse since McGongall first showed up at her door. She tasted the magic along her skin--bright and fuzzy and fresh, like waves slapping the shore. 

Hermione exhaled and leaned against a wisteria wrapped column. She heard Ginny laugh and she watched a star streak across the sky. She felt as if she could not contain herself, as if her magic threatened to explode out of her skin, and she whispered all of her dreams to herself.

There was so much potential. 

“Excuse me, Miss Granger?” A low deep baritone washed over her and Hermione turned lazily. A tall man stood in the doorway, his face thrown into the shadows. He was much taller than her, even in heels, even possibly taller than Ron. She frowned. 

“Yes?” 

“I was wondering if I may have this dance?” He held out a hand and Hermione cocked her head. 

“I’m sorry I don’t know you.”

“That’s alright. I’m Tom. Tom Gaunt. I’m an adviser here, at the Ministry. I thought a dance would be an appropriate way to introduce myself? 

“A bit unorthodox,” she remarked, even as she slid her palm into his hand. 

He grinned rakishly. “But interesting, I’m sure.” He pulled her to him, tucking her into his arms, as he whirled her across the terrace, just on the edge of joining the ballroom. The light fell through onto his features and Hermione couldn’t help but think how striking he was. His dark eyes seemed to be memorizing her face, as if she was the only woman in the world. It could be intoxicating. His hair curled in perfect waves and she half hated him for the effortless look as she felt a bobby pin spring free. 

“Will we be working together?” she asked, politely, even as his hand moved from her clothed waist to her bare back. She almost bristled at it. But he gave a disarming smile and she bit back the snap. Colleagues, soon, she thought. 

“Oh yes, I believe we will be,” he murmured. “I look forward to seeing what your magic can do, Miss Granger.”

“Are you looking for a research project? Someone to help you with something?” She hoped she didn’t appear overeager. 

He cocked his head, seeming to consider her. 

“Oh it isn’t how you can help me, Miss Granger. It’s how I can help you.” His voice was rich, enticing, and she found herself following its rises and lulls. 

“And just how can you do that?” 

He leaned forward to whisper into her ear: “You have so much ambition, Hermione. It gives you an alluring glow” She tried to jerk away but he held her tight. He swept her away from the doorway in a tight pirouette, away from the crowds, away from help, Hermione thought desperately. She opened her mouth to cry when she stuttered, sound refusing to emit. 

The bastard has cast a wandless silencio on her. Her eyes burned and he chuckled. 

“Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” The strains of the waltz were swallowed by the crickets and velvet rich darkness overhead. Roses, once light, were now cloying, strangling, drowning her in their sweetness. 

Tom gazed down at her and she pulled her lips back in a snarl, jerking away. He cut off her, twisting her arm behind her back. She kicked and he stepped to the side, whispering the petrification spell that held her frozen, bent back on his arm. 

“It’s odd to hear you silent. It’s not so often that you are.” 

Her eyes widened. He soothed her, brushing her hair back. 

“Ssssh, I don’t want our little chat to be cut short. And it would be so much easier if I could just show you.” He grinned, pulling a thin chain from his shirt. A time turner. An oddly built one, the sands glowing, the hourglass larger than she thought it should be.

“This is what you get, Hermione, for messing with time,” he murmured, hot breath skating along her jaw. She wanted to shiver, to scream, to pull away, all too aware of the racing of her heart and the implications at his words. He almost carried her until her back rested against the marble banister, her stole sliding down her shoulders as he ran his hands along her arms, his eyes gleaming with something dark. 

“I’ve spent ages looking for you. Don’t think I don’t know that you enjoyed the gifts I sent. I do hope you are wearing the underwear I saw you shopping for.” Terror screamed down her spine, utterly frozen, as he pulled back the dress and grinned at the pale blue barely covering her breasts. 

“Lovely,” he murmured. She longed to squirm from, putting all of her distress into calling for her wand. But the wards resisted and she could feel the tears gathering behind her eyes. 

He leaned closer, his body a firm line against her, and he grabbed her chin, pressing his lips hard against her, tongue lapping at her mouth, still slightly open in rage. His tongue dipped in, touched hers, and she heard his shudder. He pulled away, dark eyes meeting hers, and he whispered: 

“Legilimens.” 

Hermione desperately hoped her shields would hold but to her horror, instead of plundering her mind, he was showing her his memories. 

Of a boy whispering for the monster of Slytherin to come forward. 

Of a boy splitting his soul. 

Of a boy fleeing Hogwarts, a smile on his face, mocking his associates for their ass kissing in the Ministry. 

Of a boy, now a man, in a store, gazing hungrily at items that reeked of dark magic. 

Of the same man, turning toward her, her lithe frame appearing in a flash, the time turner hanging, broken, from her neck. Her quivering lip, her determination. 

His charming smile. 

His new name that he crafted for her as she spit out his true name. Oh, how he soothed her, wooed her with texts, with his brilliant mind. How he seduced her. 

She couldn’t flinch in horror of the image of him kissing her, his hands ripping at her blouse, plucking her nipples, an utter wanton moan coming from her. She couldn’t cry out in protest as her arms wound around his neck as he slid into her, his breath thick and ragged. Of her, riding him, his hands cupping her hips, rain splattering a dirty window, and the slow movements of a quiet morning, broken only by her hushed: “Oh, Tom.” 

Of the darkness that he began to coax out from within her. 

And then she was gone. 

He broke the spell and dropped rapid kisses along her jaw, her ears, her neck, nails digging painfully into her arms, holding her tightly to him. He tasted fuzzy and fresh and bright, like waves slapping at the shore. He tasted like magic. 

“Oh, Merlin,” he whispered, all cool mint and salt and promises of things locked away. Tom blinked away the moisture in his eyes. “I can’t seem to forget how you feel around me. How I feel inside you.”

She writhed at the comment, bile threatening to rise, if she could only move. She could barely believe she would betray her friends for a touch of whatever he offered. It couldn't have been enough, she told herself. She had to have been pretending even as the memory burned of her rocking on him, her nails scratching along his back, her mouth furiously seeking his. 

“My darling Hermione. I can feel your resistance. This is perhaps why I want you. Your utter disregard. Your need for power. Your ambition.” The last words were hissed. His voice dripped in pleasure and he ran his tongue along her lips, moaning at her taste. 

“I don’t give a fuck about the rules of time.” 

The spell holding her began to waver as he wrapped the chain around both of them. A squeak emerged from her throat and Hermione tried to thrash, ordering her muscles to move. She knew who this bastard was, Tom Gaunt indeed. He ran a finger down her jaw as he sent the time turner spinning. 

“Don’t touch me!” she managed to sputter and Voldemort laughed, thick and pleased. 

“That’s not what you used to say,” he warned as history blurred around them and she found herself in the past, with him, her scream echoing across the eons. 

Harry lifted his head: “What was that?” 

The only thing they could find of Hermione was her cashmere stole, fluttering on the banister of the terrace outside. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> "Did you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight" is from the best Batman movie, ever, obvs. Spoken by the Joker to Vicki Vale. 
> 
> Anyways this is just something that's been poking around in my head. Hope you enjoy it!


End file.
